WHICH MAKES A BARD
Once there was a time, when the harvest was done, when the people could rest and enjoy the late summer sun.
Once there was a gathering, a time for singing and dancing, listening and telling, and, of course, eating and drinking.
To this gathering there came three bards, who kept the people enthralled with their songs and stories; until the stars came out and the dancing slowed. Then any pretty girl would take the handsome man of her choice and disappear into the darkness. Finally only a few of the people remained, sitting close to the flames cast by the festival fire, and talking in quiet whispers.
At length a question was asked of the visiting three: 'What makes a bard?'
And the first one answered 'My mother was a wise woman; a healer who spent all day and every day walking the hills and valleys, to collect the herbs and plants that she required to make her potions. From her, her boy got the wisdom of knowing and of not knowing and the pleasure of learning.'
To which the people nodded and said 'Ahh'
And the second one explained 'One day I sat outside the cow shed, watching as a mother brought food to her young, nested in the old oak tree before me. Then I desired to join in. I thought I would collect some worms and give the fledglings an extra treat. I did this and climbed the easy branches but when I looked in the nest it was empty. A thought and a sorrow came over me then.'
To which the people nodded and said 'Ohh'
And the third one told them 'I sat, one day, on a high hill, listening to the wind play my harp. From nowhere there came a mist and from out of it there walked the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Her hair was the colour of Autumn leaves and her eyes the colour of spring moss. She spoke not a word to me but she began to sing.
And her voice was so pure and her tune was so sweet that I wept from the sound of it.
When she finished her song she still spoke no words but turned then and walked away from me, back into the mist. The mist cleared and she was gone, leaving only a memory and an ache in my heart.
Now, ever since that day, my ears hear her song and my fingers strain to find the notes of that song, hidden in my harp.
'Which makes you a bard' Said the people.
'Which makes me a fool' He replied.